


i could honestly care less what you think - i love you.

by orphan_account



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22013191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: short, unfinished drabbles that i dug up from my google doc archive.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Na Jaemin
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	1. loving you is my greatest sin

❦

renjun’s eyelashes were really long.

or maybe they were fake ones, naturally styled fake eyelashes you get at a walmart or something, that he’d put in for tonight, to doll up.

either way, renjun was hot, sexy, and totally desirable. jaemin wouldn’t dare voice his opinion out loud at the moment, though. not when he was surrounded by his drunk classmates (who he barely spoke to and who, in turn, barely spoke to him). the only person unfortunate enough to hear jaemin’s mindless rambling about renjun was jeno, a science geek he’d befriended way back when in the sixth grade who suddenly became a big shot after he was made soccer captain last year. jeno was so popular and had so many friends now that it was a wonder jaemin was still his one and only best friend.

sadly, jeno wasn’t currently ambling about in the kitchen with jaemin and other loiterers. he was somewhere out conversing with his guests like the good party host he was. jaemin sighed, glancing around at the people near-passing out on the white tile floor.

he could name three of the five: lee minhyung, or mark, as everyone called him, nakamoto yuta, and yuta’s boyfriend, winwin (jaemin was sure that wasn’t his real name because why would anyone name their kid winwin, of all names? but that was the only thing he’d heard the senior called by). mark was staring at the writhing mass of sweaty bodies dancing to the fast-paced beat of some popular pop song with longing and something akin to regret. jaemin didn’t know nor did he really care that much. the yuwin couple was busy sucking face near the kitchen island, with winwin sitting on the countertop and yuta in between his long, thin legs.

he’d never talked to them, only knew them by name since they were all apparently on the soccer team and pretty tight with jeno (and jeno never shut up about his teammates). the other two, who were on the floor, backs pressed together and cigarettes in hand, were in his grade, but he had no idea who they were. his circle of friends was, to put it simply, definitely not the largest out there.

he made a face into his red, plastic cup when he heard something akin to a whimpering noise coming from winwin. he forced down the rest of his tangy, sugary apple juice (he didn’t drink – alcohol was absolutely disgusting) and went back to pining over renjun, who was currently laughing on the couch with who he assumed were a group of druggies.

huang renjun was in a higher league than everyone else in school. he knew everyone (even jaemin!), from the most unknown – park jisung in freshman year – to the highly revered lee taeyong in the graduating senior class. if renjun wasn’t friends with you, he was at least your acquaintance, and if he wasn’t your acquaintance, he still got along well with you. he wasn’t exactly a jack-of-all-trades, but he seemed pretty close to one.

renjun struck it up well with the sports teams, even though he wasn’t in one. he socialized with the art club and the choir and the drama club, both the performing and tech teams. he hung out with the skaters, the loners, the goths, the feminists, of all people, and the ‘bad crowd’, too. there were probably more groups that jaemin just couldn’t name at the moment. renjun’s social connections were endless. the list went on and on and on.

in addition to being an icon at school, he was attractive, both personally and physically. he had the nicest hair, the kindest, most dangerous eyes, the clearest skin, the softest, fairest voice, and oh, his lips – they were so perfect. jaemin had imagined himself brushing his own lips over renjun’s perfect cupid’s bow, nibbling on renjun’s full, damp bottom lip on many occasions, battling renjun’s pink tongue with his own. all of those daydreams contained the small, recurring idea that jaemin was renjun’s boyfriend – something that jaemin knew, deep down in his heart, would never happen, unless by some god-given miracle.

_**fin-?** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i believe this was loosely based off of life is strange and the dynamic between rachel and chloe, although in this jaemin is really more like max :x
> 
> it was essentially supposed to be about a circle of school life and the clique disparity between someone like fic renjun (popular, well known, etc etc) and fic jaemin (nerdy, introverted, quiet) and it was intended to be a really cute, slow-burn romance


	2. deadbeat hearts and decaying lungs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> renjun wants to know why and how exactly it turned out like this. all of them do.
> 
> alternatively,
> 
> an unidentified virus somehow spreads all throughout the country, turning every breathing being into a thing, and renjun suddenly is trapped in a train heading to his boyfriend’s baseball game (with said boyfriend in tow).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> psst this one is SUPER dry, theres like literally nothing here askfjhsadkfj

❦

_“Second stop, Incheon Station. Incheon Station, second stop. There are eight minutes left to board or leave the train. Thank you for your patronage, and have a nice day.”_

Renjun complained under his breath about how slow the train was, and at how they would be late for the game. He knew he should’ve scheduled the one o’clock train that went directly from Seoul to Busan instead of this one, which went from Seoul, to Incheon, then Sacheon, and then eventually Busan. He groaned, blocking out the obnoxiously loud snores coming from the boy slumped in the window seat next to him, currently oblivious to Renjun’s plight. Their baseball team was scheduled to be in Busan for a game at five thirty sharp, and it was currently four. That gave them around and hour and a half or so, and at the slow rate their train was going at, they’d never make the distance from Incheon-to-Sacheon-to-Busan in time. Renjun groaned, running a hand through his dark locks worriedly. Jaemin shifted beside him, mumbling sleepily. His boyfriend’s cute mannerisms placated Renjun enough, for the time being, at least, and he slouched against his seat, relaxing to the best of his abilities, trying to forget about the baseball team’s tight schedule.

A tap on his shoulder made him flinch, and he turned his head wildly, trying to find out where it had come from. Someone cleared their throat from behind him. Renjun whipped his head around, eyes narrowed in mild irritation as he opened his mouth to nag whoever had the gall to bother him. He shut his trap when he realized it was Jeno – Jaemin’s cousin, and the prized ace of the team. A warm smile replaced his tense expression – Jeno was an absolute angel, one of those really rare, really good kids. Jeno fidgeted slightly. Renjun didn’t read into it too much, since the other boy was generally just like that, and it was a habit of his whenever he spoke to someone one-on-one. He stared up expectantly at the slightly younger male (“Only by like, two months!” he could hear Jaemin screech loudly behind him, not quite understanding why he cared so much about how far apart his cousin and his boyfriend were in age) who had himself propped against the back of Renjun’s seat. Jeno spoke before renjun could.

“Do you, uh, know how long it’s gonna be?”

Renjun shook his head no, feeling a rush of guilt at Jeno’s disappointed expression.

“Oh. Okay. Thanks, Jun.”

_**fin-?** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, the ever-plaguing apocalyptic au!
> 
> tbh this has always been i my head floating around and bothering me at random times ever since i've written up a little blurb on it - although whether i finish it or not is up to my energy levels lol
> 
> the plan was to draw just a huge amount of inspo from train to busan, specifically on the hs couple, hence the baseball.
> 
> this was also when i strayed to actually using proper capitalization for once because i thought all the proper names (incheon, train station etc) would be confused and lost in the lower case aesthetic


	3. on the run (from you)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another very dry one

❦

renjun’s slim fingers immediately uncurled around his spray can of white paint. his head turned sharply in jeno’s direction and he watched as the silver-haired male flinched visibly at the loud clang the bottle made. renjun didn’t even bat an eyelash at the tinny noise, too preoccupied with scouting the area behind his partner-in-possible-crime.   
  
he swore he saw the tell-tale blinding beam of a flashlight a few minute seconds ago. renjun’s mouth opened, his tongue darting out to wet his soft, thin lips, about to speak. jeno stared at him expectantly, apparently recovered from the spray can incident. a look was sent in renjun’s direction, one that said _‘so? what is it? spill.’_   
  
renjun’s body tensed when he thought he saw a flighty movement out of the corner of his eye. soon after, though, his shoulders relaxed. he didn’t bother trying to get a better look at whatever it was because it was probably just a trick of the eye. there was no way that someone else besides them was there.

turning his attention back to jeno, who was currently side-eyeing him with an impatient frown plastered on his lips, renjun shook his head, mouthing a quiet ‘it was nothing’ and then reaching down to pick up the metal bottle filled to the brim with paint.

_**fin-?** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhh i have no idea where i got this idea from actually
> 
> but basically, it was supposed to be kind of like a rag-tag team of east-side boys growing up in their individual conditions, with renmin as the focus (obviously)
> 
> the fic was supposed to start out with this vandalism/graffiti thing and then go deeper into more runs, more trouble, and eventually the consequences and the outcome - depicting the self-love and brotherly love that came out from all of those events


	4. to each their own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a very, very, very, VERY old drabble. i think its from like two years ago LOL

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its longer (8 pgs on a doc) but the writing is definitely more novice-y i would say? i mean, it WAS written 2y ago so my plot and writing style was very lacking. i think i might rewrite this sometime
> 
> easter egg: i've actually posted this before! i doubt anyone will remember it though, but i do recollect that a couple people commented on my trashy work ,,,, thank u aksdjfhasf but yeah it's been posted before, i just chickened out and deleted it haha

❦

  
  
“are you trying to tell me that mark-hyung doesn’t love me?”   
  
jaemin pressed the bridge of his finely-shaped nose with his thumb and pointer finger in an attempt to soothe the migraine he sensed coming on, wincing as lee donghyuck’s loud, shrill voice tinged with panic ripped through the air-conditioned room and frazzled his sensitive ears.    
  
“you’re saying that this whole,” donghyuck gestured wildly around himself, his fingers outstretched and hands creating circles, in an attempt to address what he couldn’t formulate with words, “was a lie? and that mark-hyung was fake? that his love for me was fake?” jaemin ignored the tears threatening to spill from his panicked subject’s brown, almost black, eyes. he wouldn’t let pity stand in the way of his research. science was more important than any human emotion he could ever experience.   
  
“yes.” donghyuck let out something akin to the sound a kicked puppy makes. “now that we’re over the difficult bit, please tell me for what reason you fell in love with lee ‘mark’ minhyung. did he do something appealing to you? were you just naturally attracted to him? or, better yet, could you tell me what your love for him was like?”    
  
chenle threw him a warning with his eyes. jaemin waved his hand dismissively. it was fine. he heard chenle sigh, and watched as his assistant turned back to scribble notes down and analyze donghyuck, probably reading into his aura and studying the way the distraught young man’s tan face contorted into an anguished, uglier version of itself. his eyes squinted as his eyes were naturally drawn to the rude pop of vibrantly-dyed hair. jaemin made a mental note to tell chenle that purple really was not his color later. a more natural blonde or dark brown would suit him better and be less eye-catching.   
  
“just describe it. was it like fire? was it as passionate as that? or was it more like the waves of the ocean? what about a calm meadow?” jaemin was more focused on asking his serious questions in an engaging, bubbly voice than trying to appease donghyuck’s obvious heartbroken mess. “if you can’t describe it in words, you could demonstrate with your actions. actions speak louder than words, i’m sure you know.” jaemin gave his signature plastic-doll grin, his extroverted eyes crinkling at the corners.   
  
donghyuck apparently took the gesture as a threat and grit his teeth, causing jaemin’s pearly white smile to falter slightly. “okay, i’m done. shut the hell up. just– just shut up. i don’t want to hear you talk or any more of your– your lies. i don’t want to answer your goddamn questions. i don’t want to play your sick, messed up game. leave me alone, dr. na.” jaemin’s eyes widened a fraction more than what relaxed would be. donghyuck stood up, making his way to the door, sparing one last glance at who he was convinced was satan’s incarnate.   
  
“wait, give me a short description, at least. it can even be just one word, this is very impor-“   
  
jaemin expected the punch that was aimed at his face, but he did nothing to stop donghyuck’s trembling fist from coming into contact with his cheek. he stood there, holding his face tenderly with a blank expression and locking eyes with the bearer of his experiment.    
  
“that’s what my love for minhyung-ssi was like. i never want to see your face or hear your voice ever again after this,” donghyuck uttered shakily, salty tracks of tears running serenely down his face. “are you a robot? do you have any feelings or empathy or pity, 

for other people in that head of yours?” with those two questions lingering in the disgustingly sterile atmosphere in the room, he departed, storming out the whitewashed door, flinging down the daniel wellington wristwatch (jaemin had told mark to give him the expensive trinket as part of the courting process) as he went.    
  
“i warned you.” jaemin grimaced when he heard chenle’s i-told-you-so tone. “see, this is what you get when you don’t listen to me. if you could just put more trust in me, or, i dunno, actually take my advice, everything would b–“   
  
“enough, chenle.” the purple-haired teenager (‘i’m an adult, jaemin-ssi!’) bit his bottom lip in annoyance. “let’s go. you’re driving.” jaemin tossed his keys over to where chenle sat, sighing at how wrongly the analysis, review, and result had gone. “and while you’re at it,” he glanced over at his assistant, who was barely paying him any mind, “pick up that watch and see if it’s damaged beyond repair or if we’re able to use it again for further experiments. oh, and also, you should dye your hair blonde next week. purple’s too distracting for our patients.”   
  
chenle sent him a look of disbelief while his mentor stalked out of the room with an unbothered, complacent expression on his face, most likely headed out to the sleek, dark grey honda civic out in the parking lot behind the building.   
  
they were doing this whole breaking-people’s-hearts-and-asking-them-difficult-questions-while-they-sob-their-eyes-out thing 

? the chinese boy couldn’t believe it. he fished out a blue mechanical pencil from his coat pocket, staring at it before dumping it back in and swapping it for a professional, black papermate pen that he got (read: stole) from staples the other day. he jotted down a few notes in the mahogany-dyed, leather-backed moleskine notebook, shaking his head. his left hand twitched in his coat pocket, brushing over the rubix cube concealed inside.   
  
na jaemin-ssi was one mean, complicated man, chenle decided. but mean and complicated or not, zhong chenle had chosen to study under the famed psychologist na jaemin, and he’d be damned if he didn’t follow through with his decision.

  
  
jisung groaned when he heard a loud thump and a string of expletives coming from the back kitchen concealed by the bar area of the small, cozy café. “shit, shit… ah! jisung!”   
  
he rolled his eyes and scrunched his nose in distaste. “what is it now, renjun?” he called from where he was manning the cash register. “you okay? is everything good?” renjun was lucky there were no customers inside the vicinity, otherwise jisung would have his head.    
  
“that’s ‘renjun-hyung’ to you!” came the agitated reply. jisung grumbled something definitely unkind under his breath. “whatever. fine. renjun-

. what’s the issue?”    
  
“i can’t find my cell phone, and i’m supposed to call jeno in five!” came the rushed, slightly accented voice. renjun’s accent always became obvious when he was upset. “help me find it.”   
  
sometimes, jisung wondered which of them was really older. renjun really was an immature (at times) force to be reckoned with. “but hyung, i’m at the cash register right now. what if a customer comes in?”   
  
“ignore the customer, i need my phone– oh, wait. i found it, nevermind!” the younger male shut his eyes, imagining his dumb, ash blonde hyung’s giddy smile as he triumphantly held the stupid mobile device in question as if it were a wad of one hundred thousand won. he felt a strong headache pounding inside his skull. “oh my god, renjun-hyung.”   
  
his attention was seized by the familiar clinking of bells, a signal that a customer arrived. “hello, welcome to the madame antoinette café.” jisung cringed internally at the name. why renjun had to choose that as a name, he didn’t know. (well, he actually did, but the reason made him even more embarrassed.) “would you like tea or would you like your fortune told by injun-ssi?”    
  
“fortune, please,” the stranger uttered, a remorseful expression on his pale face. jisung couldn’t really tell, but it seemed like the customer had been crying or something. there were what he could maybe call tear stains on his cheeks and behind his thin wire glasses, his slanted, big eyes were slightly puffy and red. the teenager decided not to pry, since he neither had the interest nor the effort to. “i see. please come this way, then,” jisung mumbled the phrase that he knew almost by heart.    
  
he led the customer to what he liked to refer to as ‘the satanic ritual room’ (in other words, the gaudily-decorated, cramped room where ‘injun-ssi’ carried out his fortune telling work) and sat him down in a borderline-rickety, wooden chair with unappealing green paint peeling off on the legs.   
  
“okay, um... injun-ssi is getting ready in the back, i’ll call him. just give me a couple minutes.” the brunette man shrugged, looking like he could care less how long the wait was. jeez, what a moody guy, jisung thought, frowning. whatever, he shouldn’t judge.   
  
“hey, renjun!” said male scowled, adjusting his thin, lightweight wire glasses and fixing his hair while looking at the body-length mirror on the wall. he saw jisung (that little, blonde, scarily-tall yet innocent and harmless brat) in the corner of the mirror, standing behind him looking lost, as always. “what is it? and you forgot the honorific again,” he pointed out, his voice rising a little in volume to show how angry he was at the obvious disrespect.    
  
just as renjun was about to strike jisung with his famous chokehold attack, the younger spoke. “there’s a customer.” renjun stilled, suddenly becoming a little more serious and toned down. “now?”    
  
“yeah. like, right now. go! he’s waiting, hyung. it’s been three minutes too long already.” renjun bolted out of the kitchen and into the small, well-lit room. in it, he encountered a solemn-faced, brunette male who was hunching over in one of the two available seats. renjun immediately observed that the customer was either nervous, upset, or scared from the way his fingers were shaking on the surface of the table.    
  
“customer-ssi,” renjun began, sliding into the seat across from him, only to be (rudely) interrupted.    
  
“just call me mar- i mean, minhyung. minhyung is fine. customer-ssi is... too formal.” the fortune teller made a face.    
  
“alright then. minhyung-ssi,” he noticed how minhyung instantly stiffened. “is there something wrong?” his customer shook his head. “okay. let’s get started, then.”    
  
renjun murmured a few useless phrases in french, crossing his fingers under the table and hoping that his customer had no idea what he was saying. even if minhyung had understood what he said, he didn’t make any move to call renjun a fraud and call the nearest police station, so he continued, muttering things to the nonexistent ghost of marie antoinette.   
  
“really? is that really what he said?” renjun asked in korean, attracting minhyung’s attention. “wow, i wouldn’t ever have guessed.” he nodded, feigning interest in the entirely fake, one-sided conversation he was having with a dead french queen. “merci beaucoup.”    
  
“what... what did she say?” renjun was surprised at how desperate his customer seemed. it was like he could feel the guilt radiating off of him. his keen eyes glanced at minhyung’s docile, pleading face. his eyes were practically almost shining with unshed tears and his brows were knit so tightly together that renjun was sure they would stay like that permanently.    
  
“you’ve been through something terrible, haven’t you?” he ignored the question and asked a question of his own. his voice sliced through the tightly-wound web of minhyung’s dejection. “something– ah. love trouble, was that it? i’m correct, yes?” hopefully he was right. as usual,he prepared himself to be yelled at for being a con-artist, a fake, a fraud (better be safe than sorry), but that didn’t happen.   
  
instead, the man sitting across from him stiffened and tension immediately wracked his body. it was then that renjun knew he had it, spot on. he shut his warm, honey brown eyes, a concentrated expression gracing his soft features. “and... this involves a... another party, different from your love interest. perhaps a... doctor, of some sort. correct?” the kind of doctor he meant was a love doctor, an option which seemed blatantly incorrect, but apparently that was the right guess.   
  
the sorrow was so thick in the room that it was making even renjun feel slightly depressed. “this is why you are worried– no, guilt-ridden – correct? because of this doctor?” he received a small nod from his trembling customer. he felt pity for minhyung, reaching out to gently brush his small, delicate hands over the other’s tumultuous, calloused ones.    
  
“it’s alright. it’s alright, don’t worry. would you like a moment to yourself, or would you like me to stay?” minhyung gave him no answer, so renjun decided it was fine to stay and console the other. “do you want to know what her highness, marie antoinette, told me?” he heard sniffling noises come from the other. “tap the table once for yes, twice for no,” he said, patiently awaiting minhyung’s verdict.    
  
one tap on the cream tablecloth. renjun nodded.    
  
“she told me,” he paused, hearing a sob coming from the other male. “she told me,” he repeated, raising his voice so that minhyung could hear him over the sniveling and crying commencing in the room and echoing around the thin walls, “that you will see that person, the one you love, of course, again. definitely. if what you feel is strong enough, then you will see them again.” the brunette lifted his head and looked over his wire glasses at the fortune teller.    
  
“are you– are you sure? are you really, absolutely sure?”    
  
“of course.” renjun smiled, the purity of it having a calming effect on his customer. “i’m never wrong.” (that was a lie. there have been countless times he’d been wrong, but he’d somehow always managed to worm his way through those few times.)    
  
minhyung let out a relieved cry, finally letting the tears flow out of his eyes. renjun stood up from where he sat, making a motion to leave the fortune telling room. he just made it to the string of dangling bead ornaments hung up on the top if the doorway (‘for a more mystical effect! this is what they all do in movies,’ jisung had told him when renjun first came up with the idea of pretending to be a fortune teller under the fake persona ‘injun-ssi’.), when minhyung called out a faint, “please, wait.”   
  
he stood before the beads, his hand brushing a few out of the way to make room for him to exit. “yes, minhyung-ssi?”    
  
“injun-ssi. i... thank you. thank you so much. you don’t know how much this means to me.”   
  
renjun smiled his plaster smile, the fake smile he always had on when he received genuine thanks for telling lies, for being fake. the gratitude he was given was like being shoved off of a hundred foot cliff into the deep depths of the cold realization of what he’d done after every session.    
  
“of course.” he walked out of the room, leaving minhyung to wallow giddily in the artificial happiness spun from renjun’s words, the ones renjun knew every client wanted to hear.    
  
damn, the guilt of lying really was going to kill him one of these days. maybe jisung could look after the café when he was dead, his body decayed and wasting away in a casket.   
  
  
  
yuta was busy. sicheng knew this.    
  
if he understood that, why was he currently standing in the middle of his doorway, fighting off that new assistant (what was his name? jimmy? jeremy? well, it didn’t really matter much) in an attempt to enter his office?   
  
“let him in,” his sad excuse of a voice (for the moment. his voice would be back to its powerful self after a good rest) boomed (or tried to boom) from where he sat, legs crossed primly, at his expensive, polished wooden desk, bought for him personally by sicheng (‘i bet your wallet is sobbing pitifully right now,’ he had joked, and received a smack to the shoulder for it. he’d only smiled, because that was how whipped he was. also, the hit hadn’t hurt at all, since sicheng was as strong as a leaf shaking in the wind). the desk was his most prized possession, since the person he loved bought it specially for him. but that was years ago, right when he became ceo of this makeup company.    
  
“what is it, sicheng?” he looked expectantly at the chinese male when he had finally finished staring yuta’s korean-american assistant-turned-bodyguard down. sicheng sighed, (attractively) running a hand through his strawberry-blonde hair that was as soft to the touch as it looked, and strode the short distance to yuta’s desk. he nearly slammed both of his hands on the surface, making the ceo wince, leaning in toward the other male. there was a fiery smolder in his dark eyes that made yuta shiver in his seat.

  
“jaehyun wants to know why you canceled that deal with his cousin... ten, i think? well, that’s what jaehyun-ah calls him. you know, the one that has a really strong branch in europe. uh, i think it was france, specifically? so, care to explain?”   
  
yuta’s nose instantly wrinkled upwards when he heard jaehyun’s name, not missing the infatuated tone that sicheng took when mentioning him. ugh, that ugly oaf again? he shook his head. “i canceled it simply because chittaphon is related to jung. and you know how i don’t do business with him. why’d you even have to ask?”   
  
it was sicheng’s turn to make an irritated expression. “i don’t understand why you think he’s so terrible. he’s actually really nice, and you’d see that if you’d actually let him talk to you. your hatred’s really bigoted.”   
  
“using big words, are we? did jung teach you how to do that?” the japanese ceo instantly regretted saying what he did, watching silently as the bearer of his romantic desire began to seethe. his pretty face became dangerously irate.    
  
“shut up. are you always this infuriating when you’re mad? talk to me when you calm down. and when you start to believe that i’m actually not simple-minded and stupid. i have an extensive vocabulary, but you wouldn’t know because you never let me talk. this conversation is over. i’ll be back.” yuta could only watch as sicheng stomped out of his office, pushing johnny (ah, that was his name!) harshly to the side because he was too cowardly to take action. yuta hated that tendency of his. 

  
“damn it.” he ran a worn hand through his gelled hair.

  
johnny peered curiously through the doorway at his boss. yuta glared at him back.    
  
“johnny. go back to work.”   
  
he clicked the television in his office on instead of doing his paperwork, not wanting to project his emotions onto the flimsy paper and screw up his business ventures in addition to his currently tightrope-thin relationship with sicheng.    
  
the newscaster was buzzing something about a psychologist who had finally come back to korea, specifically seoul, from america or england, one of the two, and opened his own counseling office. he hummed when the clip switched to a live recording of said psychologist receiving several certificates and awards for his studies of the human psyche and human tendency to have romantic attraction, slightly interested in how highly praised he was and even more intrigued in what he researched. the newscaster mentioned that his business was in a location undisclosed to the public, something yuta deemed a smart move. psychology wasn’t exactly celebrated or appreciated by the public right now.   
  
“johnny.” his tall assistant turned his head, entering the room when yuta moved his finger in a ‘come hither’ motion. “yes, yuta-ssi?”   
  
“god, how many times have i told you to just call me yuta or nakamoto-ssi? if you want to be formal, you have to be one hundred percent formal and use my last name with the honorific, there’s no in between.” johnny nodded along to the mini lecture, the information probably going in through one ear and out the other.    
  
“anyway, do you know anything about this...” yuta squinted at the television screen, eyes locking onto the psychologist’s name, “na jaemin?” johnny shook his head, the useless piece of... yuta briefly considered firing him, but he realized that the consequence of that would be sicheng heatedly ordering him to hire him back because ‘god, this is the twentieth assistant you’ve fired! i’m not having this. you’re so cold-hearted. he’s trying his best, okay? hire him back, for god’s sake. the last time you fired him, i saw him and he was in jaehyun’s office begging on his knees on the carpet to hire him (johnny was currently dating chittaphon and was connected to jaehyun that way, which was how he’d gotten access to that asshole’s office in the first place). and you know jaehyun-ah can’t because he already has like, five assistants, not including taeyong-ssi (sicheng’s brother-in-law and jaehyun’s brother and secretary)!’    
  
yuta was broken out of his musings about sicheng when johnny cursed loudly after walking hard into the wall by accident. the japanese male sighed.   
  
“johnny, find more information on this na jaemin. i have a feeling he’ll be useful.”   
  
“wait, but before you said he was useless two days ago.” his assistant looked confused.   
  
“did i? well, i was probably tired then and hardly coherent. i’ve changed my mind. research him, then find him. i’ve decided to invest in his business.” johnny still looked confused, but yuta shot him a look and he nodded, pulling his tall (probably over six foot) self out of the ceo’s office and probably into the lobby to call chittaphon and ask him. as if that weasel knew anything about this na jaemin. the thai ceo had only stepped once or twice on korean land. there was no way he knew about korean news. yuta scoffed.    
  
he had to get ahead of jaehyun somehow, and this, investing in a man who knew how human romantic attraction worked, he thought, was probably the easiest way to do it. it was a crazy, risky plan, but yuta had money to spare and he was desperate as hell.

  
he’d convince sicheng to love him again using this hotshot psychologist, he was sure of it.   
  
  
  


_**fin** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the universe and plot was very tightly based off of this kdrama that i watched - madame antoine: the love therapist - and the plot of it really grasped me because i loved the relationship dynamic between the two main characters (you should watch it, it's an interesting story) and i should probably rewatch so i can rewrite this and make it an actual series or something
> 
> what really struck me about my work is how i didn't actually match renjun and jaemin with the characters in the kdrama that would fit them the best, personality-wise (i made jaemin this really like serious, collected psychologist person who doesnt believe in the concept of love and renjun a flaky, energetic, and eccentric fortune teller so :x no wonder it was so difficult to write lol)


	5. a romantic kind of story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another drought lol

❦

“class, this is mr. huang. he will be my aide for the rest of the year. treat him kindly and with respect.”

jaemin lazily looked up from doodling small, inky blue spirals his plain, grey, spiral-bound notebook, fairly uninterested in whatever his homeroom teacher, mr. lee (or ‘yong-nim,’ as he insisted the class call him instead, since he believed that addressing him by last name was too formal and unnecessary for the short duration of the thirty minute homeroom. only mr. yong’s homeroom was allowed the privilege of using that name, though), had to say. he immediately praised himself for finding the will in him to glance at the front of the ordinary classroom when his warm, extroverted eyes landed on the fairest angel to ever set foot on the mortal terrain of his homeroom class. immersed in staring at the new, replacement teacher’s aide (it was already smack in the middle of second quarter – the original aide had shown up too late too many times and eventually the school board had had enough and fired her as soon as they could).

**_fin-?_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was thinking about a cute hs romance and this popped out lol
> 
> the plot was basically no-nonsense ta renjun having a rocky start with student jaemin who immediately takes a liking to the new ta. it was supposed to be slow-burn (recurring theme?!!) with like really upsetting push-pull kind of chapters that would make the reader have 'ugh! why would he do that! why can't they just get together already' kind of moments.


	6. it was kind of like a nightmare

❦

  
one tap. another. a third one. there were thirteen taps in total. 

  
his pencil made a droning, repetitive sound as it hit the surface of his polished, wooden desk. the sound of the rise and fall of the nearly-silent strikes overpowered his homeroom teacher's ra spy voice, sputtering with unannounced coughing. he hoped he wouldn't get sick too. 

  
a hand lightly covered his. it was smaller, and just barely covered the span of the back of his hand. his knuckles twitched. the pencil tumbled from the loose grip of its captor. it hit the desk with a harsher sound than the earlier taps. then it rolled, a grating sort of sound radiating from the force that turned it in multiple circular motions, only stopping when it reached a little divot at the head of his desk. 

  
he tore his gaze away from the rustling, half-dead little trees in the school yard, which he had a clear portrait of through the drab window, and stared at his deskmate with what he hoped didn't seem too much like surprise. there was a prettily pale, soft face in front of him. there was _also_ the beginning of a glare in his deskmate's dark, unreadable irises that nicely complimented the taut smile stretching across his lips. 

  
"can you stop?" his deskmate paused. "i can't concentrate." then, he turned his attention back to the teacher. 

  
he did stop, but he could only think of renjun's faint, breathy, accented voice, and how it sent fluttery shivers down his spine when he heard it. something different stirred in his chest. 

  
he didn't like it, so he inconspicuously slipped in his earbuds and turned his phone, discreetly stored within his desk's small storage space, up until it was two levels below max volume. he didn't hear the bell ring until renjun tapped him on the shoulder; it would've been sweet if it weren't for the scowl that came right after. 

  
"huh?" he scrambled to rip out his source of lo-fi music, looking quite disoriented (and, admittedly, stupid). looking up at his gateway back to reality, he felt a floaty, dissonant note in his ears, ringing from how loud his music had been. he only got a scoff. 

  
renjun didn't even w ave back at him.  
  


  
  
"jaemin, are you even paying attention?" snapped him back to his untouched, plentiful salad, almost soupy from how much dressing the lunch lady had poured onto it ("gross," he'd almost said aloud), which had blurred from his vision after he took out his pencil from his pocket and began fiddling with it. 

  
"aw, come on, man. i was about to get to the best part. i'll start over." a collective groan of _no, please_ and _jaemin, oh my god_ _why_ burst from their table. mark ("it’s mark _hyung_ , you guys!" he would always say. the responding reply was silence, and then laughter) looked offended. "got a problem?" everyone, except for jaemin (because he didn't know what was going on) and jeno (because he was a sweetheart) nodded.

“hyuck, chenle, jisung, you’re officially kicked out from this table,” mark said, face indignant (everyone knew he was just joking). “so, anyway,” their oldest began. leery glances were exchanged between the three who had been previously called out. jaemin tuned out. jeno, the nicest one out of all of them, listened attentively again.

“– and then all lucas said was ‘wow that’s a big one’ and the whole class busted out laughing!” jaemin actually snorted at that, listening in time to catch that part. jeno was giggling, and chenle was letting out one of his signature happy dolphin laughs. jisung and donghyuck just looked bored (they did always have the maturest mindset in their small, rowdy group of childhood friends). “i mean, i felt immature, since he didn’t mean it that way, but it was still funny.” donghyuck faked a yawn, mocking mark and everyone else; jisung did the same.

mark squabbles with the two while jeno and chenle asked each other about their respective days so far. jaemin ate one bite of his salad, restrained himself from spitting it out, and slid his red plastic tray over to jisung, who, mostly ignoring mark’s whining, eagerly took it (jaemin, even if he wanted to coo at the youngest’s rarely showed cute expression, grimaced).

after that, jaemin was (unusually) bored. he listened to jeno softly recounting the events of his english class (the usual, only the difference with today was they had a substitute teacher, mr. nakamoto, instead of mr. sicheng, or, what mist people usually called him, winwin, who was sick).

the bell rang, signalling next period. jaemin’s shoulders straightened, for some reason, when, as he was laying down all five finished trays (he was the designated tray-returner), his eyes locked onto renjun’s face. there was an uncharacteristically bubbly smile splayed over his lips. jaemin’s face reddened, and he hurriedly dumped the last three trays onto the stand.

then he ran out, choosing to not hear the shouts for him to _wait up_ , and bumped into a few people along the way. his pencil, loosely hanging from the edge of his pocket, fell. 

multiple pairs of eyes noticed it, but only one person picked it up, sighing in irritation as he slipped it into his own pocket and made a note to return it later.

  
  
  


_boring_ , all of it. jaemin slept through cryptic history and methodical math. jeno tried to keep him awake like the good seatmate and friend he was, but jaemin stubbornly continued to shut his unfocused, drooping eyes, even after he was reprimanded by mr. park, who was famous in the school for how strict he was, and his reedy voice, which raised an impossible octave higher the angrier he got (jaemin wished he’d gotten mr. lee instead; he’d heard from hyuck that he’d _rapped_ the key events they were learning in _his_ history class. _so_ lucky). 

  
“jaemin–” the bell rang and cut him off. he rejoiced; he _definitely_ would’ve gotten cleaning duty if it hadn’t. ignoring mr. park’s _the bell doesn’t dismiss you, i do_ , walking smoothly out the door after picking up his few belongings (jeno had asked him once at the beginning of the year why he didn’t have notebooks. jaemin had only shrugged, replying that he didn’t need or want them, and they left it at that), he picked up the pace after he realized he only had next period, which was self-study, and then free period (usually clubs occurred during this time).

_**fin-?** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i intended to make a oneshot series out of this, but as you can see, i only got so far lol
> 
> this was a (another!) slow burn series between renmin, depicted in high school, because i love writing about awkward teenagers in love during an important stage of their lives in that kind of crowded, socially-pressing setting
> 
> renmin i think only shares like a few classes in this fic and they're not even friends - i based this fic off of one phrase that i read while reading webtoons - 'i only ever saw his back.' i wanted to kind of have that puppy love thing going on where jaemin was awkwardly head over heels in love with his deskmate renjun, who he's not even friends with but still knows little things about. and renjun was supposed to go through certain phases like 'not even knowing jaemin really to 'sort of noticing him in the halls' to 'oh wow, he's kind of cute when he smiles'
> 
> i really want to pick up writing this one specifically ,,,, it was a really well-thought out idea that i never executed properly


	7. 032300

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “shoot me,” jaemin said. 
> 
> the world seemed to screech to a stuttering halt around renjun. he blinked, hands automatically tightening around the handgun barrel humming under his twitching fingers. his head was screaming at an inhuman tone. for the first time, the only thing he could think of saying was ‘no.’
> 
> or, alternatively, where renjun is a genetically-tampered human trained as an assassin.

❦

the first day 032300 opened his eyes, he was told it was his birthday (he had no idea what that meant, at the time) and that his name was renjun. a petite, blonde caucasian woman, about five feet and three inches in her mid-thirties, in a white sheet that enveloped her whole figure, gave him water and a granola bar that had chocolate chips systematically lined in what looked like an unnatural, cryptic pattern (which he rejected and was eventually force-fed). then he was ushered into a nice, large-looking room, about 10 feet wide on each side with a glass pane on the left-most side. three people with coats equally robbed of color like the one on the woman who had led him to the room sat behind the glass pane with symmetrical clipboards, a slip of printer paper clipped neatly onto them. inside the room, there were two wooden closets facing each other, a shelf full of old, disgustingly yellow books, and a box-shaped piece of engraved furniture on top of the shelf. there was also a clothing rack, bursting at the seams, it seemed, with different-colored shirts of varying sleeve lengths and pants of different styles with different cutoffs.

“begin test one.”

immediately, the woman let go of his hand, stared at him, lifted her index finger at him, and uttered the word ‘stay.’ she then proceeded to leave the room. his legs twitched where they stood, wanting very badly to follow her out into the room behind the glass where the three people with clipboards were sitting. he stayed rooted to the spot. 

“test one, successful.”

the people with clipboards began to write.

the voice echoed shallowly around the room he was now trapped in, making him feel a little claustrophobic (but he could manage). he didn’t look for the source of it - he didn’t even so much as flinch when it first resounded even if it did startle him - because of the previous order to stay still. he wasn’t even feeling the least bit overwhelmed; it felt like he’d down this at least a few hundred times before.

the pencils stopped. he could hear the muted scribbling behind the glass wall cease.

“begin test two.”

(it was strange how he’d definitely heard those three words and felt an overload of immense self-loathing and remorseful guilt before.)

as soon as the words had been uttered, he heard a conspicuous click. his soft, brown, almost black, eyes latched onto the source of the noise: the box on top of the shelf. its engravings were the same as when he walked into the room, but it was only at this moment that he could taste the evil, burning in those carvings. regardless, something pulled him to look into the box and discover its contents, disregarding his biting hesitation. there was something ugly at how his instincts squealed gleefully the closer he drew towards it.

he now stood at the bottom of the shelf, looking up. it wasn’t too high above him - less than a head taller than him - but he was still too far away to reach it and take it down to examine. after about a few seconds of observation, as if he had already planned it out, he took out one heavily-decayed book and placed it on the floor in front of his pale, bare feet. he did that repeatedly until he created a stack of books sufficiently tall enough for him to get that box. his ears seemed to perk up a bit; the white coats were talking, but it was barely audible. he didn’t try to decipher them. instead, he turned to the stack of five thick, hardcover books (some of the titles read ‘the odyssey’ or ‘crime and punishment’ and ‘the encyclopedia.’ there were multiple copies of only those) and observed his work. it was a little too high for him to step onto at once, so he removed two books from the shelf (both were ‘crime and punishment’) and placed them neatly in front of the first stack, effectively creating unsteady, makeshift stairs.

_**fin-?** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so apparently i drew inspiration from troye sivan - fun. i forgot what exactly that song was about, but uhh i guess i'll give it a listen so maybe i can continue this.
> 
> the idea for this also most likely came from this one show hanna, from amazon or something that i watched with my dad about a girl who was trained to be an assassin (ie basically renjun in this fic)
> 
> in the plot, renjun, a project, basically, somehow gets out of the lab he was tested in and then escapes into the real world, experiencing what it's like to really BE a someone who's living and breathing etc. enter in jaemin, who becomes first his mentor, then best friend, then more to him, who teaches him what it's like to celebrate being human. and then the real clash starts: when renjun experiences difficulties with who he wants to be vs who he was programmed to be, and etc because i don't want to spoil EVERYTHING considering the fact that i might continue this


	8. by the way, they were kicked out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: renmin “” in the theater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reallllyyyyy short but gets the message across, basically

❦

“what are you  _ doing _ ?” it was hushed, rushed, anxious. renjun only laughed at the scared tone. (he timed it perfectly so that his cackling was barely heard over the roars of indignation from their fellow audience members.)

“what does it look like?” his hand rested on jaemin’s thigh, getting alarmingly close to the belt buckle wound through the denim belt loops. fingers wrapped around his own, ultimately stopping him from going any further. renjun made a disapproving face.

“we are  _ not  _ getting of f in a theater. i want to watch! this’s the last movie of the trilogy and–” a pair of astonishingly soft lips (renjun made sure to use chapstick daily) cut him off before his boyfriend could go off on his whispered tirade, practically shoving his tongue down his throat. jaemin’s voice quieted seamlessly next to him, although his eyes looked like they had a lot to scream. regardless, renjun continued, shifting so that he could climb over the arm rest dividing their two seats.

_**fin-?** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont ask me what i meant by "" because i actually have no idea either LOL
> 
> but i can tell you that this was for a request i got on my cc a loooooong time ago that i was actually kind of uncomfortable writing at the time - although that clearly didn't stop me from trying to


End file.
